Chapter 54 Jackson

Voices, muffled voices, surround him and he tries to move, to open his eyes. Where is he? Words here and there penetrate the fog. He thinks he hears Daphne's voice but he can't be sure. Why can't he make out what they're saying? What the hell is going on? He tries to open his eyes but nothing happens. All around him he can hear beeping noises and the hiss of machines. Throbbing. His head is going to explode. What is happening?

"Daphne," he tries to say, but his mouth remains closed, and no sound comes from his throat. His throat burns. He raises his hand to feel, but nothing happens. Why can't he lift his hand? Is this a dream? "Daphne!" He tries again. Nothing.

Think, think. Slowly it comes back to him. Swimming. A night swim. Jax was asleep as was his nanny, Chloe. It was close to midnight and all was quiet. It was his favorite time to do laps. Daphne had gotten the girls back and all the charges against her cleared. The girls, his girls, angry and yelling at him. Swearing to never speak to him again. At least he still had Jax. And Daphne, he'd figure out a way to get her back. He would never let her go. With each stroke he felt more confident, more assured. He'd finished, pushed himself up and out of the pool, then grabbed the towel and began to dry his hair.

"Mr. Parrish. We meet again. So nice of you to save us the trouble of breaking in."

Jackson froze, his insides turning to ice. It couldn't be. Slowly, he turned around and faced the man he'd hoped to never see again. The man was dressed flawlessly in a black Kiton suit tailored perfectly to his form, his silver hair sleek and slicked back. He wore his signature black-framed glasses with the unusual red-tinted lenses. Jackson knew the man suffered from achromatopsia, the inability to see any color with the exception of black, gray, and white and that was the reason for the special lenses. On either side of him stood two hulking men, their legs splayed, their arms crossed in front of their groin, each one gripping a black automatic pistol with a long silencer attached.

"What do you want?" Jackson asked, trying to sound braver than he felt. He had known this day was inevitable when he'd found that Amber had sold the diamonds. He would never have taken them to New York where they could so easily be traced back to him. Jackson's plan had been to hold on to them for a few more years and then sell them to his contact in Europe who would have made sure he stayed anonymous. The man in front of him was not someone to be double-crossed. He could be generous—fair, even—but he had a strict moral code that had no tolerance for betrayal. Jackson scrambled to think of something to say to help himself.

The man laughed, a mirthless chuckle. "What do you think? I want my diamonds, but sadly, you've sold them. So I'll have to settle for the money."

Jackson shivered, the cool night air against his wet skin and the sight of the two guns making the hair on his arms stand up. "I, uh, I don't have it," Jackson said, taking a slight step back.

The man shook his head. "Do you think I'm stupid? I've been informed that you've set up an account offshore." He inclined his head toward the table where Jackson's phone sat. "You're going to transfer those funds now."

Jackson hesitated, looking around, trying to figure a way out of the situation. "I don't have the number. My wife set it up. The rest of the money was used for an investment and I lost it."

The man moved closer until he was inches from Jackson's face, close enough that Jackson could smell the tobacco residue that clung to his clothes. "Don't fucking bullshit me."

He moved toward the table, picking up Jackson's phone and throwing it at him. "The account number. Now."

Jackson caught the phone with both hands but continued to stand, mute.

The man tilted his head toward one of his goons. The tall redhead strode forward and grabbed Jackson's hand, bending the thumb until there was an audible crack. Jackson fell to his knees, howling in pain.

"I don't know where the money is," he panted, rising on wobbly legs.

The man shook his head. "No one steals from me. You might have gotten away with it. You hid your betrayal well. But surely you must have known that to sell them so carelessly would be your demise."

"It wasn't me. My wife…my stupid…"

The man came closer. "Your wife is guilty only of getting you caught. You were the one who stole from me." His expression hardened and he spat on the ground. "Where are the three pink diamonds that were never sold?"

Jackson shook his head. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. I don't know. Amber must have them."

"No doubt they will surface in time. But for now, this concludes our business together."

He moved away and nodded to his men.

"You don't have to kill me. I'll find a way to get the money. Give me a chance. Don't kill me," Jackson said, his voice shaking.

The man turned and smiled at him. "You're out of chances. By the time these two are finished with you, you'll be begging to die."

Jackson turned and tried to run. One man grabbed him and held him while the other began to rain punches on him. He was pushed to the ground, his head ricocheting off the hard cement. He tried to cover his face with his hands, but one man held both his arms down while the other smashed his fist into Jackson's nose. Red hot pain exploded through him.

"Stop, please," he begged. The man's hands were tight around his throat, choking him, and he sputtered for breath, desperate for air. Just when he thought he would pass out, the man let go. Jackson's relief was short-lived. The guy reached for something behind him, and he realized with horror it was a tire iron. The swing connected hard with Jackson's neck. Suddenly the area was bathed in lights and Jackson heard the sound of sirens. That was the last thing he remembered.

He hears a door close, and the sound of Daphne's voice pulls him back into the present. It is her. He can hear her as clear as day. Why can't he talk?

"Do you have the test results yet?"

A throat clears. "Yes, it doesn't look good."

"Tell me."

"It's been three days since we evacuated the subdermal hematoma. We were able to wean him off the breathing tube and reduce the sedation, but…"

"But what?"

"He should have woken up, but he remains unresponsive. Further testing reveals that there's been a vertebral dissection, likely as a result of the neck trauma."

"What does that mean?"

"It's a tear in the inner lining of the artery. It caused a blood clot, which shot off into the basilar artery—that's the main artery to the brain stem—and caused a brain stem stroke. As a result, MRI imaging shows major damage to his brain stem. He's lucky he's able to breathe on his own."

"I don't understand. Can you fix it?"

"No, the damage is permanent. To simplify, the brain stem is what executes actions for us. Talking, moving, and so on."

"So he's brain dead?"

No! I can hear you, he screams, but no sound comes out. He has to let them know. How is this happening? Unable to move. Them talking about him like he isn't even there. The doctor speaks again.

"No, not brain dead. There doesn't appear to be any damage to his cortex. That means it's possible he can think, hear, and even see. But he can't move."

What is this idiot doctor saying? What the fuck? They can't give up on him. If he can hear them and think, he has to be okay. They need to do something! His eyes fly open. The two of them are still talking, acting like he isn't there. Look at me. I'm awake!

The doctor approaches the bed. "His eyes are open."

No shit! I told you!

"Jackson, can you follow the light?" The doctor holds a flashlight and moves it from side to side. Jackson tracks it with his eyes.

The doctor turns back to Daphne. "We're almost certain your ex-husband has locked-in syndrome. He can't move or speak but is likely cognitively aware."

"Are you saying that his mind is working, but he's trapped in a body that can't move or communicate?"

"I'm sorry to say, but yes. I'm afraid he'll require a feeding tube and twenty-four-hour care."

Jackson can't believe his ears. He is going to be like this forever? That can't be right. It was unthinkable. Ask again. Daphne, get clarity!Look at me. He moves his eyes back and forth hoping to get their attention, but neither look his way.

"So what's going to happen to him?" Daphne asks.

"Once his acute injuries are healed, he'll need to be moved to a long-term care facility." The doctor puts his hand on Daphne's arm. "A social worker will be in to speak to you and help you navigate the decisions to be made."

"Is there any chance he can recover?" she asks.

"I never say never, but it's extremely unlikely."

Jackson closes his eyes, terror and despair washing over him. This is all Amber's fault. She ruined his life. He'd still be married to Daphne if it wasn't for her. The FBI would never have found out about his tax evasion and he would never have gone to prison. And then her greed and stupidity in selling the diamonds. One stupid mistake on his part had caused his entire life to fall apart. Why had he ever allowed himself to be seduced by that Medusa? The only good thing to come from her was Jax, but now Jackson would be denied even the pleasure of his son's company. This was to be his life? No way to communicate, forever at the mercy of strangers for every little thing. It was unbearable. They should have killed him. It would have been better.